


Orange you glad to see me (yes, I had to make that pun, I don’t make the rules)

by AshAndSnow



Series: Start With This [14]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, But it's in a sort of vague setting, Fairytale-esque, First Kiss, In a way, Inspired my chap go mai, Kissing, M/M, Matchmaking, Mermaids, One Shot, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:00:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23425906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshAndSnow/pseuds/AshAndSnow
Summary: On the third night of the Moon Festival, one must throw an offering into the river to find their match.Loki’s is always lost.(Prompt: Write something inspired by ”orange”. Wait a few days, then edit.)
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark
Series: Start With This [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1317602
Comments: 24
Kudos: 216





	Orange you glad to see me (yes, I had to make that pun, I don’t make the rules)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AeonTheDimensionalGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeonTheDimensionalGirl/gifts).



> This is inspired by a few different things:
> 
> 1) Dear Mandy, who wanted merpeople for her birthday. Happy birthday, I hope you like my gift to you!
> 
> 2) My friend Kas taught me about an old tradition called Chap Goh Mai, in which single women, on the last day of the Chinese New Year, will throw oranges into a river with their name and contact info, hoping to ensnare a mate.
> 
> 3) My friend Taylor showed me this comic: https://amarcia.tumblr.com/post/185370981926/local-rusa%C5%82ka-said-sapphic-rights-have-a-good

For the most part, Loki has always loved the Moon Festival.

The Moon Festival is, after all, so much more than the Matchmaking Ceremony. It’s the feasts, where the whole town comes together to share their food, to eat and sing and dance. It’s the elders telling stories on the Night of Remembrance. It’s dancing and creating and celebrating the passing of another year, and of many more years to come.

It’s just that the Matchmaking Ceremony is inevitable, and all the youths of the town can ever talk about in the month leading up to the festival.

And Loki hates it with a passion.

*

The Matchmaking Ceremony is one of the most popular celebrations in the country that raised Loki and counts him as one of its own.

The story goes, that if you offer the moon a token – handcrafted with hope and care, embedded with love and personality – she may just lead you to your match.

And so, on the third night of the Moon Festival, all the young, single men and women leave carefully crafted gifts with their names upon them on the river, and they squeal with delight as the current takes them away.

It is a great source of excitement. And Loki grew up, just like all the other boys and girls, hoping with wide eyes and open hearts that the moon would lead him to find his true love’s offering – or that his true love would come upon his.

*

Loki still remembers being 15, stars in his eyes and naive as could be, kneeling on the bridge and releasing a wolf, one he had carved with utmost care and so carefully written his name upon, into the river.

Loki still remembers watching it drift away, until ten yards out, it sunk so fast it was like it had been yanked down.

The same spot where every single offering of his would sink for years to come.

*

He had tried everything.

He wondered if he had found a bad spot. So at 16, he’d moved up the river. But it had sunk in the same place, in the same way.

He wondered if it was bad timing. So at 17, he’d come up earlier. But it had sunk in the same place, in the same way.

He wondered if his offering wasn’t well suited to the task of staying afloat for long. So at 18, he’d crafted a most beautiful bowl and released it with care, making sure it would have its best shot at sailing away upon its quest for love. But it had sunk in the same place, in the same way.

He had tried everything. For years, he had asked for advice, copied his more successful friends, experimented, searched for answers, offered grander gifts or smarter gifts or lighter gifts.

For years, his offerings had sunk.

Watching his offering sink for the seventh time at 21, Loki’d given up.

*

Secretly, Loki is a romantic.

He likes the idea of love. He likes the idea of grand emotions and fiery passion and of knowing he is with the perfect person, because fate and the gods and the moon herself has led them together. He wants it, and he would settle for nothing less.

His mother and father are one of those rare couples that have not only been led together by the moon; they had both found the other’s offering. The ultimate blessing one could hope to achieve upon one’s relationship.

And Loki once wanted that. He has seen how purely and truly his parents loved, and he has wanted it for himself. Is that so wrong?

But when the moon has quite literally sunk your offerings, repeatedly thwarting your attempts to find that, well. At some point, Loki thinks, you better take a hint and realize that your true love’s not coming, because your true love isn’t out there.

Which is why, this year, at 22, Loki hasn’t crafted anything for the moon to lead to his true love.

He doesn’t even attend the ceremony with everyone else. He does not want anyone to ask him questions or pity him. He does not want to care.

But the river has always held too strong of a hold upon him, has always attracted him. He has always felt like it held answers to questions he does not know he should be asking.

And so, when everyone else has returned to their township, usually so peaceful but lively tonight with people and song, and food and drink, and dance and joy, Loki sets out for the river.

He winds his way through the trees, until the town is far beyond sight and the woods have swallowed him whole, and he walks by the grace of the moonlight alone.

It almost feels like a mockery that that is what should guide him tonight.

But guide him it does, as he answers the call of the river. He has always felt a sense of belonging here; whenever he is overcome by strong emotion – peace or turmoil, joy or depression, loneliness or a sense of belonging – he has always sought the river.

More specifically, he has sought this stunning clearing.

There’s a wooden bridge across the water, here, and Loki has always liked sitting upon it, shoes off and pants rolled up, toes dipped in the cold water rushing by. It feels like he is meant to be here, feeling the water, admiring the light shimmering upon the surface and highlighting the peaceful greens and plentiful flowers in his surroundings.

Part of Loki wants to leave. But s hetill lets his feet carry him to the middle of the bridge. And, like he so often does, he takes off his boots, sits down, and dangles his legs over the edge.

His eyes seek it out immediately; the spot where all his many offerings have been lost.

He ponders it bitterly as he sits there; if he jumped in and swam over there, would he find all his gifts in a neat little pile on the riverbed? What is he missing? What does the river know, that keeps him coming back for answers?

”Oh, it’s you! I had started to lose hope that I would see you at all.”

Loki nearly shrieks as he whips around, searching for whoever has managed to successfully sneak up on him.

His eyes go upwards first, assuming someone has come walking from the village like he. But he sees nobody there, and his eyes travel downwards, only to go wide when they land upon the culprit.

He’s quite beautiful. His hair is dark and tousled, and his eyes are full of soft brown and liquid gold. His skin is tan, even the pale moonlight does not wash him out. He’s muscled too, which is clear for all to see, as he wears no shirt.

But what truly makes him stand out is that he’s wet. And he’s hanging onto the edge of the bridge, the rest of him submerged in the water below, clearly content as could be.

The long tail that stretches out behind him in place of human legs, shimmering red and gold and orange, more exquisite than the finest silks and most detailed oil paintings, probably explains the lack of discomfort or fear at leaving himself at the mercy of the water like that, though.

And, upon closer inspection, the creature is wearing the circlet Loki offered when he was 19.

It’s over all enough to leave Loki gaping. Which is embarrassing. He’s sitting here, mouth open and eyes wide, staring at this creature like he’s an actual moron. He knows it; and he still can’t shake himself out of it.

The creature raises an eyebrow. ”What? Do I have something in my teeth?”

It’s enough to shake Loki out of the state he’s in, and it enables to him scramble up on his feet and to the other side of the bridge. He kneels down, not quite out of reach of the creature, bending to better look at him. ”Who are you?” he demands, practically stumbling on the words in his rush to speak. There is so much he wants to ask. ”Why are you looking for me?”

The creature laughs like he said something silly.

”Because I always do. I am always so very curious to see what you will bring me next.”

Loki’s head is spinning. The circlet…the creature knowing him… knowing to wait for him… _until ten yards out it sunk so fast it was like it had been yanked down…_

” _You’re_ the one who stole my offerings!”

At first, Loki is furious. And the strange thing is that he knows in his core that this is not something he should be angry about. But he has yet to register and digest what is happening to a point where he can figure out why, and, as a result, stop being angry.

For his part, the creature doesn’t look the least bit perturbed. In fact, he’s looking at Loki with warmth and amusement and a great, big smile on his face.

”Yep,” he declares, pleased as can be. ”They’re for me, after all. Just like you took all the things I left for you.”

Loki’s mind is spinning all over again. Memories of finding flower wreaths and pretty rocks on the bridge; of how he had always had the best luck of anyone when they came here to fish; of how this clearing has always been full of bird song or blissful quiet, depending exactly on his moods and needs.

It clicks.

The river and moon always led him here, because he was meant to find his match here.

His eyes go wide, and so does the creature’s smile. ”See? I had every right.”

Fascination makes Loki throw caution to the wind; he sits back down in a mirror of his previous pose, feet dangling next to the creature.

”This can’t be real,” he says anyway. ”Merpeople don’t exist.”

”That’s a fine thing to be saying about your moon match.”

”I don’t believe I have a moon match either.”

”That’s silly, your match is as real as the merpeople.”

Loki gives the creature a look, but a small smile is settling in the corners of his lips. He can’t fight it, even if he’s trying.

”You’re wearing the circlet I made.”

”Of course I am,” the creature laughs, bright and beautiful and familiar. Loki wonders how he ever mistook it for just another sound in the water. ”It is one of my favourite gifts.”

Loki smiles and feels warm; the intensity of the gaze that this creature is looking at him with makes him duck his head. But soon enough, he feels drawn to look right back up. ”What’s your name?” he asks.

”Anton. And yours is Loki.”

Anton. Loki likes it.

”Are you really my moon match, Anton?”

Anton’s smile dimishes, but it does not disappear, and it grows so much warmer and so much more real.

”As much as you are mine.”

Well. Loki can’t really argue with that. Especially since he is starting to feel something shift in him. He starts to finally find the answers the river was holding.

”In that case, I’m sorry I didn’t bring you a gift this year.”

Anton pretends to think. Loki watches him as a slow cheshire smile spreads on his face.

”Well. I have an idea for a gift we can give to each other.”

Loki raises a brow. ”Oh?”

Without further ado, Anton pushes himself up onto his hands, and, with swift grace, he leans in and captures Loki’s mouth with his.

Loki squeaks just a tiny bit in surprise. It’s wet… but it’s also warm. And safe. And… like coming home. And before Loki knows it, he’s melting into it, winding his fingers into Anton’s hair, shirt getting wet and Loki could not care less, because the water has always been his home.

Maybe the moon knows what she’s doing after all.


End file.
